The Fox and the Hound
by RidetheRain
Summary: A quick drabble to get into the Hound's character.


Nothing mattered. Not really. Living mattered only as long as you are alive and Sandor Clegane knew his own life was not destined to be long. He had hurt too many people. Ended too many lives. Pissed off too many gods. So nothing really mattered. He just didn't know how to stop going on and living. So on he trudged. One step at a time next to the bloody woman who almost killed him listening to her irritating talk of honor and duty as if it mattered. It made him sick.

"Shut up" he growled at Brienne. "If I had known that going North would mean listening to you for hundreds of miles I would have let my brother kill me."

She gave him one of her ruddy withering glares that were supposed to make him feel bad and shut up. How he ended up traveling North with Brienne of Tarth could only be explained by an angry god. He should never have looked in that damnable fire.

"I'm just saying-" Brienne started.

"Oh hell"

"I'm just saying," she said louder. "That Arya learned a fair amount about swordplay somewhere and it wasn't from me. If you didn't teach her then I want to know who did."

"I. Don't. Care." He said slowly as if to a slow dog. "She practiced her shite dancing lessons when I had her too. If she found some pussy footed halfwit to show her a few more fancy steps then why should I care?"

He said the words with as much finality as he could care to muster and took an extra large step forward in the hopes should would take the hint to leave him the fuck alone.

"It's more than that." Bloody hell woman! "She almost beat me in a one-on-one practice bout. I've never seen anything like it. If she wanted to kill me, I believe she could have done it."

"Of course she could you stupid cunt." Why was he still answering her? "That girl has more balls than most men. She's not stupid enough to fight fair. Now will you shut up? Don't you have more things to worry about than a little girl with a stick for a sword?"

"She has a Valyrian Steel dagger too."

"Bully for her. She can help fight the monsters."

"I suppose you're right, though. I'm far more concerned for Sansa."

"What's wrong with Sansa Stark?" Sandor couldn't quite stop the question from tumbling out of his mouth. Brienne didn't seem to notice.

"I think Littlefinger has his claws in her. She was under a lot of stress as Lady of Winterfell when I left. I am afraid of his influence. She's not safe with him."

"If you were so worried about Peter fucking Baelish then why did you come to this circus of horrors?" Sandor actually turned to look at the woman with these words. He didn't bother to hide his contempt.

"I have pledged my service to the Stark daughters." Brienne started her customary spiel about duty and honor. Sandor tuned her out.

"Fuck duty" He said when the noise died down. "Fuck promises. Your job is to know what's best. And you left. Some protector you are."

Brienne was finally silent. That worried Sandor. If Brienne stopped talking over that then there might be real danger from Littlefinger. He thumbed the hilt of his dagger. He'd be ready. Only dead men take warnings lightly.

The last road to Winterfell moved quickly despite the snow. It was packed down from hundreds of travellers all trying to reach a place of safety to ride out the winter.

Outside the gate there was a long line of people waiting to be admitted. Sandor sighed deeply and stopped at the end. He was ready to sit down and finally get some decent wine. Someone was sure to be selling it around here. He stopped himself from giving Tena a pat on the neck.

"What are you doing?"

Fucking Brienne.

"Sitting."

"I'm not waiting in this line. I'll vouch for you at the gate."

"You'll what?" He looked at Brienne like she was crazy. Which she might be.

"Arya will be happy to see you. I'll take the risk." He was pretty sure she was laughing at him.

With a groan, he stood back up and continued the trudge through the snow up to the gate. He didn't even get a chance to find any wine.

Happy to see him was an overstatement. Another man would mistake her face for completely indifferent.

But Sandor knew this girl. He knew her in ways she couldn't escape from. She may have learned to lie, but you can't unsay what you've said. She was different than the angry little child he travelled with. Her stance was easy and she was certainly less obnoxiously arrogant. Still arrogant though. And still angry.

"You're not dead." Arya's voice was neutral. It wasn't a question.

"No." he agreed.

She stepped a little closer and smiled at him. It was a crazed smile and Sandor began to worry about his personal safety. He was wary of the steel in her belt. Her face settled into an odd smirk as she noticed the concern in his eyes.

"Don't worry. I took you off my list."

"Am I supposed to be grateful?" He couldn't help the bite of sarcasm in his words.

"Yes." He grunted at that answer and she stepped forward and gave him a hug. She was barely tall enough to keep her hands off his arse.

He yanked her away as forcefully as he dared and growled "If you do that again I'll tear your arms off."

She finally smiled a genuine smile and walked away.

Meeting Sansa went better. A little.

"Hello Sandor Clegane. You are welcome at Winterfell. Do you have news from your travels?"

She remained seated with her advisors behind the table the Winterfell people used instead of a throne. Somehow the lack of Lanester splendor made her appear more powerful instead of less.

"No, my lady." he said formally.

"Very well. We still await my brother, King Jon's, arrival. For the protection you offered my sister, I offer you my protection as the Lady of Winterfell."

"Thank you, my lady." Despite the implicit dismissal, Sandor remained standing in the middle of the room. Sansa stared at him.

"Is there something you wish to say, Sir Clegane?"

"I'm not a knight." He said gruffly. "And I want to… speak to Lord Baelish."

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. "He's dead."

Sandor snorted. "I doubt it. What Lord told you that?"

"I had him executed for treason four days ago. Do you have something you wish to confess?"

"I confess to wanting to execute him myself."


End file.
